Curtains

Dirty blinds.  Dirty cord on the left.

Slippery Slope:  I now know the meaning of that.

Before 

Washing windows meant cleaning the floor meant painting the walls meant painting the ceiling meant painting the woodwork meant getting rid of the mini blinds.

Old mini-bling hardware removed.
Ready for sanding, filling the localized painting

Some measuring and a rather quick trip to my favorite store meant that some stitching, some ironing, some removing of old dirty blinds, some hole filling, some touch up painting, some drilling, some attaching were all Things I get to do today.

Curtains at night

Curtains in daylight

The end result feels great, and it feels like it is the bottom of the slope, which would be the end, as in "Curtains."

There Comes a Time

The hen house needs cleaning.  Eventually, there comes a time.  It isn't the most favored of Things I get to do today, but today's the day.  It's extra warm out, so all the water used in the cleaning will run off and dry up before the girls head for bed at dark.

Nina in the fresh and sparkly mezzanine nest box

The nest boxes will have all the dried egg (from accidents and scrub jay intrusion) washed out,  dust and debris hosed off the tops, and, when they are moisture free again, they'll be filled with fresh, crisp, fragrant straw.

Katy says it passes the "Hens' Housing" inspection

Perches will be scrubbed with bleach water and dusted lightly for mites.  The mezzanine will be hosed and brushed till clean.

Clean straw, ankle deep on a chicken

 Fresh sand goes on the floor before clean straw.

The only thing left to clean up is me.  Toss me in the shower, please!  There comes a time. . . .

Clean-Out-the-Crisper, Full-Circle Salad

Tired mushrooms, softening pepper, yellow carrots and
 half a beet found this spring over-wintered in the garden,
broccoli stalks, arugula gleaned  when one of the garden beds
was cleaned up  and fresh eggs from the girls.   Left over chicken (not shown)

I'm not a cook.  But I do cook. Most of the time it's fun.  And it's always part of the Things I get to do today, so I look for ways to be creative--most of the time. Sometimes I just look for ways to get my husband and myself fed. Not to be overlooked are those moments when the great cycles of life all converge:  "no food" in the house, meal time, fridge needs cleaning out.  Ever happen at your house?

Full-Meal Deal

This galactic converging slammed into my kitchen the other night.  We had Clean-Out-the-Crisper, Full-Circle Salad.  You immediately get emptying the fridge drawer onto the kitchen counter.  The salad also included bits of chicken and hard-boiled eggs. Not knowing which came first, I included the full circle.

The Green Algae Dance Competition

I had a dance date today:  at the top of my extension ladder,  with the first runner-up for the Oregon state plant, a type of green algae.  Our actual state plant/flower is the Oregon Grape, which is probably sprouting in the gutters on my house and on my roof while I'm not looking because I'm busy with the algae.

Duster and pole.

Removed cover from duster.
Secured it on pole with a rubber band and duct tape.

Yes, back to the algae stuff.  You've seen my sweet little piazza with its new kiwi trellis.  Well, covering the piazza is corrugated polycarbonate roofing.  I put the piazza together and the roof on last summer in July.  It has had all the rains of fall and winter to settle in and become intimately acquainted with things that grow in this state and our state--green algae being the most friendly.  When I designed my sweet space, the roof slant was made fairly flat to save on materials.  I was not thinking about the fir needles from the trees outside our property that would shower down, settle in and make cozy nesting for other things to grow. And so on balmy evenings as we sit in front of the chiminea and look up, there's our first runner-up.

All set up for action and dancing

This morning rain made it perfect for dancing at the top of a ladder with a scrubber on the end of a skylight-opening extension pole to see who would come away with the top prize--Things I get to do today--the algae or me.

Tools and results:  the closer channels are partly cleaned

Thirty channels eight feet long to scrub full length with a tool invented using a duster cover from my favorite store and that very helpful extension pole equals a gentle, morning, upper-body workout.

View from the top:
scum on right and left of cleaned channels

If you are shorter than six feet tall, you should not try this trick at home.  It requires arms and legs at least six inches longer than whatever you currently have.

Sparkling and clear:  ready for a warm, restful weekend

I haven't checked the result scores yet, but I'm pretty certain I won.

How Many. . . Does It Take to Change a. . .

The real questions is how long does it take.  One Handy Andy can most likely manage this simple task, being tall enough to reach and moderately clever enough to find a structure to make up the difference if not.

All the light has leaked out of this bulb

A bulb over the kitchen counter has been out for weeks. Not a real problem since there are six other lights on full-blaze, and meals have continued to come through the production line.

Fresh bulb waiting to be installed.  Waiting.  Waiting.

A replacement bulb has been waiting for a lift for about that same period of time.  The bulb is willing, but its jumping muscles are weak.

Careful eyes can see the tan dribble on the wall.
All cleaned up by only one H. A.

Very ordinary Things I get to do today are pull up a chair, step on the chair, step up on the counter, unscrew the dead bulb, put in the new one. Less than two minutes.  But wait!  I'm pretty sure it's been six or eight years since I dusted off the lamps and the rail.  And while I'm up here with a soapy, wet rag, it would be smart to get the food spots off the wall (how on earth did food get on the wall nearly 10 feet up?  Don't ask, just clean.  So a simple two-minute task is extended by another two minutes.  No big deal. What took me so long, anyway?

Commit to a Corner

Every time I pass it, there is guilt.  You probably have one, too--a little corner that has an odd collection of stuff that needs to be sorted through, put away or cleaned up.

Chicken stuff landing

Since it's a small area, it's not top priority--but every time you pass it, it sucks some of your energy. Mine is next to the utility sink in the pantry.  I stop there when I come in from the chicken coop. Chicken stuff that is not allowed in the kitchen roosts here. And since I wash my hands here when I come in, stuff is set down with a promise for later.  And later it has become.  Taking just a minute to clean it up feels terrific.  Tiny bit of effort. Big payoff.  Cuts the draining guilt pipeline.




So I've decided that about once a week the Things I get to do today will include "commit to a corner" somewhere that needs my attention.  Once a week is enough is ease the guilt and help me keep ahead of the stuff.  It can even be the same corner.

Cactus Dust

It took me years, but I finally did it.  From past posts you know that dusting is not top on my list of favorite Things I get to do today.  But I do it anyway--when necessary.

All brushed up

However I do like to clean the bathrooms, and I finally dusted the cactus that sits on the back of the toilet.  Poor little guy has grown a soft gray fur over his short, sharp spines, and past attempts to dust him have been painful for me, and not so good for him either.  There was  the "blow off the dust" attempt, the "sit under the faucet" try, and the "ignore the crud" technique.  None of these did anything, though sitting under the faucet put some sand in the sink and down the drain.

Back at work

An old toothbrush stands in with me to reach all the little slimy, grimy places in the bathroom when I'm on a clean. Standing with the brush in my hand, seeing the cactus, I am finally, after more than several years, seeing how they go together.  Sure enough, the toothbrush bristles were the perfect length to clean the spines and give Cactus Joe a scalp massage as well. Minutes later he was sparkly-spiky and ready to go back to work.*




*Energy off the tips of the cactus spines help break up congestion in areas like bathrooms.

One More Cup of Coffee for the Road. . .

So the song goes.  Mr. Dylan keeps me company in my head while the carpet cleaner  screams in my ears.  Cleaning the little red pickup, Donk is his name, is on the list of Things I Get To Do Today. 

It was obvious that the floor mats needed to be vacuumed.  The floor itself, yes, that, too.  And the seats.  Then clean the windows and I’d be finished.  But while vacuuming the seats, and I have to admit I noticed two or three on the floor as well, I became aware of some light brown spots.  So now the task is not so simple, not so quick. 

A-lick-and-a- promise approach makes for a bitter, cranky feeling in my gut.  If you are doing a task that you do not enjoy, even the slightest little bit, I have always maintained that doing the task better will produce, if not a “like” for the job, at least a much higher degree of satisfaction during the process and upon completion of the task.  After a very short mental discussion about how to proceed, I rustled up a pan of water, some rags and the cleaning solution.  Two minutes later, I hauled out also the carpet cleaner and adjusted it to the “tools/upholstery” setting at highest sucking power.

I shifted into compound low—just-anybody-try-to-stop-me-now mode—and headed for Donk.  He shivered a bit after seeing the pan of cold water but saw my mood and offered no resistance.  Soap, water, scrub, suck, rinse, suck, rinse, suck!  The seats looked remarkably better in short order.

The floor was next—those areas I had hardly notice earlier—it was their turn.  The little brown areas just disappeared.  Now that was cool.  But wait!  The water being sucked up by the howling equipment was a rich, coffee brown.  Carpet looked clean.  Water coming out was brown.  Better go over the area again. And again.  And again 5 times.  Another 5 times.  Lost count at this point.  Just how many cups of coffee has slipped from the drivers’ (correct playing of apostrophe, since my daughter had used Donk in college, and many, many of her friends had driven this sweet, hardworking little pickup) hands and ended up on the floor.  They were all in the dehydrated state between the carpet and the floor boards.  And I’m sucking them up, cup by cup.

The rich coffee finally became weak in its color, and I knew there was no more “juice” available in the dregs that remained.

And now as I'm heading out on an errand, sitting on a towel to keep my pants relatively dry on the still-damp seat and very carefully balancing a drink in my hand, I feel sweet satisfaction.  “One more cup of coffee ‘fore I go.”